Let Me Lick Your Wounds
by TobiasRosetta
Summary: Derek shows up at Stiles house, bleeding, and hurt, and... human. After a surprise attack from a beta, Derek is poisoned with a strain of wolfsbane that completely suppresses his wolf, and makes him human for an indefinite length of time. (This originated as a drabble on my tumblr. www.tobyrosetta. )
1. Chapter 1

Gasping, shuffling, lurching, Derek was focused on one thing only.

Stiles.

Get to Stiles.

Stiles was safety. Stiles could help him.

Derek was familiar with pain. He'd been shot, beaten, burned, hit by cars, broken, and he always healed. For some reason, this time, he wasn't. He didn't know why, but he was weak. He was no longer strong, or quick. His muscles felt like lead weights after running, and fighting. His blood was drying on his skin, and hardening into scabs, instead of healing, and fading away into nothing.

He was…. human.

It had something to do with the frosty blue dust that covered his jacket. That he'd inhaled, and swallowed. Something about it made his body… wrong. After the rogue Omega who had seen fit to attack Derek had shoved a handful of the dust onto his mouth and nose, things had changed. He'd come very close to dying tonight, and that scared him.

His car was parked haphazardly at the curb in front of the Stilinski house. He could come here, he was safe here, because he'd personally asked Deaton to help Stiles ward his home against wolves. It was up to Stiles alone if he, or even Scott, could come in, anymore.

Already, he was wishing that he could smell. It was like the world was suddenly bland. His senses were dulled, making him feel hazy and sluggish. In the back of his head, somewhere, he wondered if this was what a cold felt like. He'd never been sick before, not like this. The only reason he could tell that Stiles was home alone, was the presence of his jeep in the driveway, but a distinct absence of the sheriffs Police Cruiser.

On any other day, Derek wouldn't have cared. He'd have gone around the back, to hop onto the roof and tap at the teens door, to be let in. Seeing as that was out of the question, he shuffled his way, stiffly, to the front door. His foot caught on one of the steps, but he caught himself at the last moment, by slumping against the front door. A few desperately weak raps of his knuckle against the wood went unanswered. Unheard. He tried the doorbell, but couldn't hear if it had gone off or not. Was there cotton in his ears? This was ridiculous.

Unanswered again. Inhaling shakily, he pulled his phone free of his pocket, with a shaky left hand. The Alpha's right arm was cradled against his chest. Fumbling, trying to get his eyes to focus on the cell phone screen, his fingers went everywhere he didn't want them to, smearing blood on the glass. He'd only gotten one word typed, when at last the door swung open. Derek toppled over, into the foyer, sprawled out on the floor with a whimper of pain.

The strip of mountain ash lain across the entryway hadn't effected him. Was he really human?

Coughing, and trying to move, it took Derek a few moments to tune in to Stiles, and the freakout the teen was having.

"OHmyGOD Derek!? What the hell man?! What the… Whats wrong? Dude, why are you… Oh God is that blood? Why are you bleeding on my floor?! I mean, I didn't mean it like… It's just you're not healing… Why aren't you healing?!" Letting out a growl, Derek was finally able to lever his left hand beneath him, rolling over, and struggling up into a sitting position, releasing a trembling exhale.

He was embarrassed. Weak. Pathetic. Groveling. Hiding from weaklings of his own kind at a humans home… Swallowing hard, he cast his eyes to the side, and pressed the heal of his palm against his throbbing temple.

"I… need your help… Stiles.." He whispered, a wave of dizziness overcoming him. But this time, it didn't flicker, and pass. It overwhelmed him, and soon, it carried him away to a world of grey, and then black.

Derek wasn't passed out very long. No more than a few minutes on the floor, when a rush of cold water over his face had him gasping in surprise, and then again, in pain. "FUCK! STILES! Dammit!" He cursed, rolling onto his side, dripping water from his face onto the hardwood floor. He had to take a moment to blink it out of his eyes, beads of water clinging to the tips of his dark eyelashes, enhancing the drama of them, when the mans hazel orbs fastened onto Stiles face. Or rather, one eye glared. The other was nearly too swollen to open, at the moment.

"Sorry, man, jeeze. You're too heavy to move and you wouldn't wake up! I panicked!" The teen exclaimed in a strained, anxious voice. He…. Derek couldn't smell him…Immediately, he was swallowing, inhaling, flinching away. Just that fact… It was like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Again.

"….Help me up." He demanded. For a moment, Stiles stared at him. Derek "Grumpyface McPissypants" Hale was asking (commanding, really) for help? An inmpatient lift of his eyebrows let Stiles know that Derek was waiting, and on autopilot, the teen jumped forward, grabbing the alpha under the arm, helping to haul him up to his feet. Dereks other hand was latched onto the banister of the stairs to add some extra leverage.

"So, you wanna explain to me a few things? Like, A) Why are you here? B) Who fucked you up? And C) Why aren't you healing?!"

I already regret coming here…

"Well, Stiles. I'm here because I'm hurt and need help, does it really matter who did this right now? And if I KNEW why I wasn't healing, I'D FIX IT!" Derek snapped. Stiles jerked back, letting Derek sway, and rest his wait on the railing for a moment. The younger male had never seen the wolf snap like that. Normally, though, that level of anger, and irritation would be accompanied by red eyes, and fangs. But there was nothing. Nothing but bruises, scruff, and pain.

"…Shit… Man… Come on…" Sighing, Stiles stepped forward, and ducked down to loop Dereks arm over his shoulder. It was a bit of an uncomfortable position at first, since they were the same height, practically, but after a few steps, they were able to adjust their weight, and make it work.

Sort of.

Climbing the stairs was a hue hassle, and in the midst of it, Stiles verbally noted that this had to be the longest it had ever taken him to go up a flight of stairs.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I inconveniencing you?" Derek drawled out. It was Stiles turn to bristle in irritation from sarcasm.

"Yeah, you kind of are you ungrateful gimp. Shut up and focus. 5 more steps." He grumbled before pursing his lips, physically straining to haul Derek up, and towards the bathroom across the hall from his room. Using his foot to tap the lid down all the way, Stiles almost lost his balance, but out of sheer willpower, he didn't fall.

Derek slumped onto the closed toiled with a hiss, arm cradled protectively around his sternum.

"Crap… Umm… Okay…. I guess, first aid, first. Take off your shirt and jacket. They're ruined anyway… Are those claw marks? Was it other werewolves?" Stiles was talking and moving at the same time. He'd dug out an old first aid kit. A big one, in a white case, with a big red cross on the front and everything. Knowing Stiles awkwardness and his tendency to be less-than-stable on his own feet, Melissa had probably insisted on giving them a medical grade kit.

Derek had stayed still, watching for a moment, before resigning himself to obey, pulling his garments off painfully slowly. Stiles had to try really REALLY hard to not tap his toes. His… bare toes. Derek only just realized, when his un-hindered eye focused on the ground, hunched over to wriggle out of the shreds of his formerly grey shirt, that Stiles wasn't wearing shoes, or socks. He could see each of the boys long, but not freakishly so, toes. When he wasn't shifting around from foot to foot, those toes curled, clenched, and relaxed many times.

Straightening just enough that he wasn't staring creepily at the human teens feet, Dereks gaze swept upward, taking in the other details. Like the fact that Stiles was wearing black, baggy, cotton pajama pants with an energy drink logo printed in an annoying neon color all over them. His upper body was sovered in a long sleeved thermal shirt, a t-shirt over that. Was the boy so self conscious of his own body that he wore this much, even when he was alone? It wasn't cold in the Stilinski house, so he couldn't rationalize it that way….

"OW, FUCK!" The sting of pain wrenched Derek out of his thoughts. He felt like a dog with his hackles up. Stiles had instinctively jerked away, holding up a alcohol saturated pad of gauze in his hand, stained just faintly, with blood, from a claw mark on Dereks shoulder that he'd started to clean.

"….Quit being a pussy, man. Hell, I've seen you break bones without too much of a flinch." Stiles sounded like he was in disbelief. Seeing this side of Derek was foreign to him. Derek took in an attempt at a calming breath through his nose, nostrils flaring as he repeated it, and forced himself to relax back onto his seat.

"I wasn't expecting it, okay? I just got mauled, I'm a little out of sorts." He rasped out,licking his dry lips. Stiles just chuckled, and leaned in again, to go back to what he'd been trying to do. His hands were a little more hesitant, until he finally pressed the sanitizing fabric against the wound. The only sign that Derek registered it was the telling flex of a tendon in his pronounced jaw. Like he was biting back on his teeth to keep in his reaction.

"Mauled is an appropriate term. You look like a couple of bears decided to play catch, and you volunteered to be the ball. Now, are you going to explain what happened to me, or are you saving it to pantomime to me in a bracing game of charades, later?" Derek didn't answer for a long time as Stiles systematically cleaned all of his wounds, practically sponge-bathing him in alcohol.

"I was investigating something. Erika had been running through the forest, and thought she'd smelled someone. A new werewolf. If there's a wolf in my territory, I need to know about it. Well, it turns out that there's a few wolves in my territory, and they have some new tricks up their sleeve. Namely, a silvery blue powder that smells like candy, and seems to have made me completely human." The mans tone was a little bitter.

Okay, 'a little' is kind of a big understatement…. Stiles thought quietly, as he started bandaging the scratches. After a few moments, it seemed more like he was trying to create a mummy.

"…I think I over did it a little…" He mused out loud, only to receive a disparaging glare.

"You think?" Was the retort. Stiles rolled his eyes, and took off the superfluous wrappings, so that Derek was only as bound as he absolutely needed to be.

"Alright… So how are we getting you home?" Stiles asked curiously. "Do I have to take you in my jeep? Does this mean I get to drive the Camaro?!" He suddenly lit up, only to deflate when Derek shot him a look that plainly asked 'are you a fucking idiot?'

"There's no way I'm going home. It's not safe. I'm human now, but I think I know why. The wolves that did this to me were beta's. They're trying to get me weak, so they can kill me. Whatever this is, I'm betting it's temporary. Making my wolf dormant long enough that they can kill me, and claim my alpha power. I've got to wait this out, and I can't do that if I'm not safe. Do you want another batshit crazy alpha out on the loose, like Peter?" He could practically hear Peters insulted retort to that.

"What, you mean… You think you're staying here?! Nu uh, buddy! Not happening! My dad had you in HANDCUFFS, and has had warrants for your arrest, TWICE, now. You think he's just gonna… Believe you're a reformed criminal, and let you sleep over? No. Not happening. Go stay at Scotts, you guys are furry brothers. What about your pack? Isaac, or Boyd? Wouldn't you be safer around a werewolf, not a human?" Derek could see the panic that Stiles was going through at the suggestion, but he couldn't feel it anymore. He felt so numb, and daze. Like there was a blanket over him, and it was just sheer enough that he could hear, and see through it, but everything was unclear.

Stiles, to him, had always been a beacon of feeling. His pulse was always jumping all over the place, his scent changing, sometimes by the second. He felt emotions so strongly, and so quickly, that he was never boring to be around. Even if he did have some bad talking habits…

Desperate, Derek reached out, grabbing Stiles wrist to press his fingertips into his pulse, forehead pressed against the teens fabric covered ribs.

"…Please." He whispered.

Close, like this, he could feel the life inside of Stiles, and that calmed him more than anything else could.


	2. Chapter 2

"Woah… Easy…" Stiles directed quietly as he guided Derek into his bedroom. Cleaned up, for the most part, Stiles wanted to get Derek laying down, and resting, so he could clean up the bathroom and try to figure out what to tell his dad.

"What are you doing?" Derek demanded to know, as he sank onto the edge of Stiles bed, looking around. Normally, whenever he was in this room, he was overwhelmed with the stench of teenage hormones, and an aroma that was uniquely Stiles. Today, though, it was just a room. Under-whelming and plain. A little bit messy too. As if he could read the thoughts on Dereks face, Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't expecting company, okay? As for what I'm doing, I'm cleaning up, and trying to think of what I could possibly tell my dad, to make him okay with this. Right now, there's blood in the foyer, and the bathroom, and a currently broken werewolf in my bed! So… you just… lay down, and sleep, while I take care of this situation." Stiles ranted irritably, all the while scooping up clothes that littered the floor into his hamper. While he was at it, he knocked a few empty energy drink cans into his garbage bin.

"Stiles-"

"That's not sleeping, that's talking." He cut in sharply, before leaving the bedroom, door closing behind him. Derek sighed roughly, staring at the door where he'd just been looking at the outline of Stiles body.

"-Thanks." He finished quietly. Gingerly, Derek shifted back and nudged his shoes off onto the floor, before laying down. He had to admit, Stiles bed was comfortable. More comfortable than the cot he had set up at his burnt shell of a house. The cold pillow on the back of his neck was soothing, and despite the glow of Stiles computer screen, he was able to drift off into an exhausted, dreamless slumber.

Stiles, on the other hand, was so keyed up, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. The first order of business was throwing away the bloody cloth he'd used to mop up the blood from Dereks flesh, and clean his wounds. He made sure to shove them to the bottom of the bathroom garbage bin, and stowed the first aid kid carefully back where it was supposed to go. A quick rinse of the sink, and the toilet where Derek had been sitting found Stiles satisfied that there was no evidence to be found in the bathroom.

Practically running down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Stiles pulled the bleach out of the laundry room, filling a bucket with water, and some of the cleaner. "As if I don't already do enough for his wolfy-butt…" Stiles grumbled as he got on hands and knees, scrubbing the hard wood of the entryway.

Engrossed in his chore, Stiles didn't hear the car door, or the footsteps guiding up to the front door. When it swung open, nearly hitting him in the head, he had to jump backwards and pull the bucket out of the way, before it got knocked over.

"….Stiles…. What in God's name are you doing?" The Sheriff asked his son as he stood there, staring down at him.

"Uh… hey Dad. You're home…ea-Right on time! Wouldya look at that!" He exclaimed after craning his neck to glance at the clock in the living room. "How was work? Careful the floor is wet."

"I can see that. Would you mind telling me _why_ the floor is wet? And why it smells like bleach? You're not cleaning up blood, are you?" His father was still standing in the doorway, staring down at Stile who was grimacing at him quietly, before looking away and sighing.

"Actually… I am…. Not mine! I'm alright!"

"I don't know if that makes me feel better, or worse, Stiles. Who was bleeding in our house? Is Scott-"

"No, it wasn't Scott. Scott's fine. Scott's at home, or something, I don't know." At last, the Sheriff stepped in, carefully skirting around the freshly cleaned section of hard-wood floor. Stiles carefully stood up, drying his hands off on an old, ratty towel.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Son."

"I'm trying to think of one, Dad." That got him a withering glare from his dad, so Stiles sighed and lifted a hand to rub over his face, but stopped short with a wrinkled nose when he smelled the bleach on his hand.

"Alright… Okay. So… umm… Why don't you go and get changed, and lock your gun up for the night, then I'll explain everything, okay? Are you hungry? I'll make some food." He started to leave the foyer, before turning back around and grabbing the bucket of bleach-water, to carry into the kitchen. Dumping in the sink, he was actually surprised to hear his dad walking upstairs, to do as he'd suggested. Of course he wanted the Sheriff to put his gun away before he told him that Derek was asleep in his bed.

Shit… Derek was asleep in his bed!

Stiles went as still as a rock, listening intently for the tell-tale signs of where his dad was in the house. He knew every floor board creak, every groan this old house made. Relief flooded him when he heard the high pitched squeak of the loose board next to his father's bed. Tossing the empty bucket into the laundry room again, Stiles quickly scrubbed his hands and started to make his dad a steak. A real one, though it was lean meat. If he was going to give his dad bad news, he might as well butter him up first. It was halfway done by the time the Sheriff surfaced in the kitchen at last.

"Stiles, I think you left a movie or a game on in your room. I could have sworn I heard snoring when I walked past.

'_Goddammit, Derek, of course you would snore.'_ Stiles mentally whined, flipping the burger.

"Uh… Right, well…" Stiles grabbed a beer out of the fridge and handed it to his father. "That's… actually a person, in there, snoring. The person who was bleeding in the entry, remember?" Sighing, Stiles dad sat down at the table, and took a long drink off of his beer.

"Alright. I'm sitting, I'm placated, I'm unarmed. Tell me what's going on."

Swallowing thickly, Stiles licked his lips anxiously and lifted his hands, mouth open and poised to speak. He was prepared to spin this beautiful, winding tale, but the look on his dads face was too much for him, and he sagged visibly.

"Derek Hale is asleep in my bed right now."

"….Come again? I think I misheard you. You said Der-"

"Derek Hale. Tall, dark, grumpy, yeah, you heard me right."

"The same Derek Hale that I've had in prison, and a warrant to arrest after you and Scott accused him of murder, twice?" Blanching at the reminders, Stiles turned back to the stove, nudging the cooking steak around.

"Derek didn't kill anyone, dad. There's… a lot of stuff that's been going on this year, but Dereks a good guy. Scott and I didn't know him that well, when all of that stuff happened, but he's saved our butts a couple of times since then, and we've helped him out too. I wouldn't… say were exactly friends, yet, but we have mutual friends and… He's not a criminal. Besides, Laura, and the janitor at the school were both determined to have been killed by wild animals, remember?"

Stiles could feel his dad staring at him. He just knew It was one of his disappointed stares too, and it hurt.

"Alright. Fine. So he's not a criminal. But he isn't… I don't know him. You don't talk about hanging out with him, what am I supposed to think? What do you mean he's 'saved' you and Scott? Stiles I overlook a lot of shit but-"

"Dad, stop. Look, I'll tell you everything, okay?" The seemed to surprise the Sheriff into falling silent. Stiles finished making his dads dinner, pairing a salad with the steak and setting it down in front of the tired looking man. Stiles sat across the table from him, and folded his hands in front of him, though his fingers still tapped and wiggled anxiously.

"Okay. I'm listening." Waiting until his dad started eating, Stiles took a deep breath.

"It all kind of started that night that everyone was out searching for the other half of Laura's body. Scott and I were out looking together. I know I told you I was alone, but you already knew I was lying. Anyway, when you caught me, Scott went to go back home alone. He got attacked by something out there though. The same 'wild animal' that killed Laura. It bit him, on the side. I saw the wound, in all its bloody glory, myself, the next day at school. The next day though… It was gone. Complete. Not even a scar…."

It took an hour to explain everything. He didn't leave out a single detail except for the fact of Peter coming back from the dead. That one was a little too hard to explain. And the whole time, his dad remained silent, eating his dinner. His poker face was perfect, and left Stiles a little scared.

"So… uh… that's where we are now. Werewolves, and stuff." He finished lamely, sighing. For another long minute, silence reigned between the two Stilinski men, until at last the Sheriff looked up, setting his beer bottle aside.

"Okay. So, assuming I believe all of this… werewolf stuff… You're telling me that _werewolf_ Derek Hale is asleep in your bed, and he was the one that was bleeding on our floor? But you said werewolves can heal and… " He was lost for words as he tried to make sense of it.

"I can call Scott over here to prove it to you, Dad. It's not make believe, okay? I'd wake Derek up to have him show you but… he's kind of broken right now, and won't be healing for a while. I have to take him to see Dr. Deaton tomorrow, and find out more about this. But basically, some new Werewolves are in town, Beta's, and they're trying to kill Derek. Derek's an Alpha, and one of the way's a Beta werewolf can become an Alpha is by killing an Alpha. The problem with that is, Alpha's are incredibly strong. Too strong for a regular Beta to take down alone. So they drugged him with some kind of weird Wolfsbane that makes it so he can't… wolf out anymore."

"Stiles, I know you're really into your video games and comics but-"

"Dad! I'm being completely serious here, okay? Completely. Tell me it doesn't fit together? Everything I told you fills in the holes that you've been trying to figure out, right?" Stiles was trying to not get angry. He couldn't blame his dad for having a hard time believing.

"Look, it's…"

"Mrs. McCall knows, too. She saw Scott transform, at the police station. You were unconscious. Matt had shot Scott right in front of her, and… If you won't let me call Scott over, then call her, and ask her. She'll tell you it's true."

That seemed to resonate with his father. Melissa McCall was one of the most levelheaded, down to earth individuals he knew, a longtime friend, thanks to Stiles and Scott's friendship.

"…Why didn't you tell me sooner, Stiles?" He asked finally. That was the question that had been pressing on him. Stiles face fell a little bit, and he buried his face into his hands.

"Because…. It was easier having you confused and in the dark than scared for me 24/7. I didn't want you to think I was crazy, or to hate Scott. It's his secret more than it is mine. There are people who kill werewolves for the simple fact of what they are. It's more and more dangerous with every knew person that finds out about all of this." He replied in a thick voice, before reflexively clearing his throat, hands slipping from his cheeks to fold together loosely in front of his face. Gently, he rested his chin on his fingers and looked up at his father's concerned face.

"Stiles, I'm your dad. It's my job to be scared for you 24/7. For Godssake, I thought you were doing drug, or petty crime." He exhaled as it he was at least a little relieved. The thought of that made the Sheriff laugh inwardly. "God… I'm actually happy that you're… running with werewolves, instead of doing drugs." He muttered, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, you know, Werewolves are a gateway mythical creature. Before you know it, I'll be riding unicorns and slaying dragons; hosting weekly poker games with leprechauns." Stiles suggested with a bit of a grin. Joking his way out of a tense situation always worked best for him. This time, his father actually did laugh a little.

He sobered soon enough though, and stood up to carry his cold plate over to the sink, to rinse it off.

"So how long are we playing host for Mr. Hale?" He asked stiffly. Stiles relaxed with a visible sag to his shoulders.

"Just until his wolfliness comes back, and he can protect himself again. It shouldn't be very long. You're the best, Dad." Stiles jumped up, taking the plate and shooing his dad away. "Go to bed. I'll finish up the dishes." He ordered, already grabbing the pan to start scrubbing it.

"Stiles… What else aren't you telling me?" His father asked after a long silence. Stiles only faltered for a second, before continuing to scrub the brillo-pad over the pan.

"Too much honesty for one night dad. Anymore, and I'll start having an allergic reaction. That's… a talk for a different day. Just… take comfort when I say it's perfectly mundane and not life threatening in anyway at all." Finally, after another minute, the Sheriff slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Stiles to sigh in relief, slumping over the dishes. That went way better than anticipated…

_Thump!_ Jumping at the muffled sound, and a curse from his dad, Stiles shut the water off, about to investigate when his dad reappeared suddenly, setting a box on the table, with a single labored breath.

"The air mattress… So… you know… you don't have to share….. yeah." Stiles cheeks almost immediately flared red as he gaped at his father, glancing between him and the box.

"I… Wha… Dad… Thanks, but… Ugh, go to bed will you!? I'm fine." Stiles brandished a soapy spatula towards the door, snorting a little when some suds flung onto his dads arm. The Sheriff just grumbled at him, wiping it off and shuffling out. Stiles had only just started to turn back to the sink when his dad's head poked around the door-frame.

"Do you want me to clear out the old guest room? We can set the futon up in there for him instead, and that way you wouldn't have to sh-"

"Dad! Seriously! I love you, go to bed! You have to be up in…. 6 hours for work! " Stiles lectured in exasperation. Pursed lips, Sheriff Stilinski conceded defeat with a hand raised in surrender.

"Alright, alright. Goodnight, son." He replied, finally. Stiles heard him shuffling towards the stairs. At last, he could relax again. He was rinsing out the pot when he realized that he hadn't heard the stairs creak yet. Quietly, he glanced to his left, and caught his father, mid shuffle, back into the kitchen.

"What are you…" Stiles frowned, in confusion, looking his dad over. The sheriff winced out a grin as he reached out and set a bulky black object down on top of the air-mattress box.

"I'm just gonna… leave this here, if you want to put it under your pillow… Okay, going to bed, goodnight!" This time, it seemed like his dad couldn't get upstairs fast enough. In seconds, he could hear him opening, and closing his bedroom door. Another glance at the object his father had put on the box made Stiles released a strangled groan, and exclamation.

"A taser?! Really, dad?!" He knew his father would hear him, through the thin walls of the house. The muffled laughter that followed proved it. "Jesus…. Christ… seriously. He's a werewolf, not a face eating alien." He grumbled silently as he finished loading up the dishwasher.


End file.
